Undertow
by Vaniah
Summary: AU: Daniel doesn't walk away from Betty's goodbye party in "Hello Goodbye".
1. Chapter 1

NOTES: First attempt at an AU, in which Daniel doesn't walk away from Betty's goodbye party. It's also kind of a song-inspired story, which is another first for me.

Written for the 30 Days of Ugly Betty Challenge at the Daniel/Betty Livejournal community.

Chapter 6 of LDN is still happening, I _swear_. For this challenge I was about equally as far into both pieces, but figured since neither was complete, it made more sense to post this rather than Chapter 6, Part A or something stupid like that.

Part Two will be up . . . honestly, I don't know. Hopefully very soon, but RL is only going to get busier from here on out. I'll be working three jobs, one full-time, beginning in a week or so. But I'm still writing away where I can, that much I promise.

Feedback is much appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p>"UNDERTOW"<p>

Part One

His mother squeezes his shoulder. "Are you going to talk to her?"

"I think I need to let her go."

Daniel takes one more second to watch Betty on the dance floor, drinking in the parts of her he never allowed himself to appreciate before: the feminine hourglass shape of her hips and breasts; her silky waterfall of hair; the sexy arch of her legs in her heels.

And God, that _smile_. She is radiant. Joyous. He feels the tiniest lift in his heart knowing that.

It's enough for now. He turns to the elevators.

Mom follows him, heels clattering, black sash billowing behind her. "Daniel, wait. Don't do this."

She reaches for his arm, but he shakes her off and thumbs the down button. "Mom, I'm going home. I can't be here. Just go back to the party."

"Let me rephrase that: don't do this to _her_. Daniel, Betty needs you to go in there and tell her you're happy for her. Find it within yourself to do that."

"No, she doesn't. She's fine." The elevator takes forever, and his head begins to pound from the pressure behind his eyes. The music makes it worse. "I can't go in there and pretend –" Emotion rises in his throat and he stops, swallows, tries again. "Look, I don't want to ruin this for her. I'll call her before her flight tomorrow, okay?"

He won't. He knows it. A clean break is for the best.

"If you walk away from her now," Mom says, her voice low and intense, "you will always regret it."

There is nothing about this situation he doesn't already regret from the deepest part of himself. "Mom, please. Just let me go."

The numbers above the elevator door light up at 23, 24, 25 –

"Daniel?"

His heart lurches so fiercely that for a moment he thinks it stopped. Mom releases his arm and steps back, but Daniel doesn't turn around. The numbers light at 26, 27, and finally, 28.

The elevator slides open.

"Daniel? Where are you going?"

The confusion and hurt in her voice makes him feel ill. Slowly, he turns around. The elevator shuts behind him.

"Nowhere," he says.

Mom begins walking away backwards. "I think I'll go check on your nephew, Betty. Make sure nobody's giving him any of the punch."

Betty smiles at his mother, though it's wobbly. "Thank you, Mrs. Meade. For everything."

"You're welcome, darling. Don't go without seeing me again, alright?"

She leaves, and Daniel and Betty are left alone in the elevator foyer.

Betty holds up her phone. "I was just going to call you. Um, again. Did you get my messages?"

"I did."

She looks at him searchingly for a long moment. Daniel is certain she must be seeing right through to the very centre of him.

But she simply holds out her hand and says softly, "Come to my party, Daniel."

He doesn't think. "Okay."

* * *

><p>But they don't actually go to the party. Daniel can feel his mother's eyes tracking them from her spot by the punchbowl, but Daniel's entire being is focused on the gentle pressure of Betty's hand in his as she guides him through the crowd.<p>

She must have shed her gold jacket at some point while she was dancing. He admires her smooth bare skin, the way their arms form a perfect V.

She leads Daniel to the balcony just off his office, releasing his hand to slide the glass door shut behind them. A bass beat thumps under their feet, but the music is otherwise muffled.

"Betty . . ."

Betty cuts him off without preamble. "You weren't going to say goodbye to me, were you?" The view of the sprawling city lights behind her is magnificent, but he can't see beyond the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "You were just going to let me leave. You were going to let me go to all the way to London thinking – thinking that you _hated_ me."

Dread knots in Daniel's stomach at the mounting anger in her tone. "I wasn't."

"Yes, you were! Don't lie to me, Daniel! Not now. After _everything_ we've been through together –" But as quickly as it came, the anger seems to drain from her, leaving her deflated and lost. "How could you?"

Daniel wishes he could summon up his own anger that she had excluded him from this life-altering decision of hers, but he can't. There's nothing left in that place but a wrenching, searing hurt at what Daniel has discovered from these events:

Daniel doesn't matter as much to Betty as she does to him; it's what everything boils down to in this eleventh hour of their friendship. She doesn't love him, and Daniel – he's so in love with her he can't see straight.

Oh, wait. That's because his eyes are beginning to fill.

He blinks rapidly and, just in case, turns away from her to stare out at the skyline. In the very distance, he can make out a wave-like string of lights. The Brooklyn Bridge.

"I see," she says softly, resigned. "So we're really doing this. Um, okay then. I'll just say my piece and then – and then we'll call it good?"

He nods. The guilt and anguish churns his stomach.

"Daniel, I'm so grateful for these past four years. It's been a pleasure working with you. Actually, an honour." Rehearsed or not, Daniel can't tune out the sincerity in her voice, nor her hand resting between his shoulder blades. "Everything I've learned here – which is a lot – I'm going to take with me. But more than that, these last four years have changed my life. Professionally, yes, but personally too. And maybe you don't believe me right now, but I know we'll always be in each other's lives. No matter what." There's a tentative smile in her voice. "Even if it's over Skype."

Daniel wants to believe her. He really does. But she's so magnetic in her kindness and intelligence and beauty that it will only be a matter of time before she's surrounded by new friends in London. They'll keep her busy, along with her new job, and it'll get harder and harder to stay in touch. Phone calls will get missed; schedules will clash; the five hour time difference will get in the way.

They'll drift apart. Eventually, she will move on.

There will be new men, too. Guys smart enough to see right away how amazing she is. She'll be swept off her feet in no time.

The thought kills him, but it also forces him to bury whatever half-formed notion he had about confessing his feelings. Betty's dreams are finally coming true; she deserves to begin this wonderful new life free of his neediness.

While his heart is collapsing in on itself, his silence stretches too long.

"Daniel, why are you being like this? Why can't you just be happy for me? Listen." Her gentle touch changes; she grips his shoulder and forces him around to face her. "I can't tell you how difficult this decision was, but I've made it. I'm leaving my family, my job, my friends, everything. This is the opportunity I've wanted for years, but I'm still scared out of my mind, okay? If there was one time – _one time_ – I needed your support more than ever, it's now."

Of course his mother was right. Daniel scrubs his hands over his face. "I'm a shit friend, Betty. You should know this by now. But – I'm sorry. It just caught me by surprise, you know? I am happy for you. Really."

He gathers what composure he has left to put on his most sincere face, but Betty's expression is still wary. "That's it? All this – the avoiding, the cold shoulder, the setting your office on fire –"

"Come on. It wasn't the whole office."

" – and now we're okay? Just like that."

"Yes. I mean, if you are. If you can forgive me."

Her eyes go gentle, and although he suspects she doesn't entirely believe him, it doesn't matter. "You're an idiot. You know that, right?"

"I do." The clean break – he can forget about it. He's here now with her and suddenly every second seems precious. "It's just that – I'm going to miss you a lot."

"Oh, Daniel. I'll miss you too. So much. Don't you know that?" And then she darts forward into his arms, hugging him tightly around the neck.

She smells so good. Her body is warmer and softer than Daniel imagined (and he's imagined a lot in the short time his feelings have been known to him). He buries his face in her hair and can't fathom ever letting her go.

It's what compels the next few life-altering moments.

Inside, Jarrod from layouts, acting as the makeshift DJ, fades Taio Cruz into a new track; a few plain piano notes, and then the slow, steady beat of a love song begins. Barely heard through the glass, a man and woman harmonize wistfully:

_I don't want to let you go, but we're caught in the undertow._

"Sounds like it's starting to wind down in there," Betty murmurs against his shoulder. "I should get back." She begins to pull away, slipping her arms off his shoulders.

Daniel's hands remain around her waist.

"Daniel – ?"

He looks down into her upturned face. The breeze up here brushes a few strands of hair across her forehead. In his head, he begins taking mental snapshots to remember her by. This is a good one. "Dance with me?"

"You mean out here?"

"Just one song. Then I'll let you go."

Betty's expression shifts from confused to startled. He didn't mean to say that. She looks at him searchingly again, and then says, almost reverently, "Your mom – she knows a lot, doesn't she?"

Daniel frowns. Talk about a mood-killer. "Um, I'll pass on the compliment?"

But even as he says it, Betty shifts in his arms, pressing close until they're swaying side to side with the muffled music.

When they danced at Hilda's wedding, they joked and laughed and goofed around playfully (flirtatiously on Daniel's part) the whole time. This dance couldn't be more different. The gentle music washes over them almost as an afterthought – and unlike before, the prim, appropriate distance between their bodies has disappeared.

Daniel doesn't know what is happening, but this is more than he ever hoped for in a goodbye. He presses his cheek to Betty's temple, closes his eyes, and sways with her.

The song crescendos, then begins to slow and grow fainter. The DJ cues the next track, a faster, bouncier number, but the Daniel and Betty remain together. Slowly, she lifts her head from his shoulder and peers up at him.

Something about her open, almost wondering expression prompts Daniel to whisper, "These last four years changed my life, too."

"I know. You've grown so much. You should be proud of who you are now." She doesn't seem to mind when he begins caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"It's because of you, Betty. Everything I am, every good thing that's happened since I met you," he whispers, "you've been in the middle of it."

It's not what he planned. He probably shouldn't.

Daniel lowers his face toward hers, hoping it isn't because she drank too much champagne earlier that Betty's closes her eyes and tilts her face to meet his. His heart pounds, her breath tickles his cheek, and for the briefest second, their lips almost brush –

Which is when the balcony door clatters open, letting in a blast of noise and music.

Betty and Daniel startle apart. She stares up at him, wide-eyed with shock, and Daniel wishes he could tell whether it's the good or bad kind.

"There you are!" Amanda stumbles through the doorway, a glass of champagne in each hand. "Bettylicious, you _have_ to come talk to my bio-dad. He's going to pitch a storyline about my life to the soap writers, and we can't decide who should play you. Marc says Rosie O'Donnell, but I'm totally thinking one of those cute singing Disney girls."

"They'd have to pull a Renee Zellweger for the role, Mandy. I just can't see it happening." Marc pauses to take in their faces. Betty's hair is mussed, her cheeks fetchingly pink. Daniel thinks he probably looks like a particularly stupid deer caught in headlights. No, a tractor beam.

They can't meet each other's eyes.

Marc, quick as ever, damn him, begins to grin incredulously. "Oh my good Gucci. You can_not_ be serious."

Amanda looks at Marc weirdly. "What? I don't get it."

Betty jumps forward, grabbing Marc and Amanda's arms. "Nothing!" Without so much as a backwards at Daniel, she begins hurrying them inside. "Um, who's going to play you, Amanda?"

"Well, first I was all, Blake Lively! But she's totally looking a little bloated lately, don't you think?"

"Cheese fingers off, Suarez. Shoo." Marc bats Betty off, letting Amanda drag her back to the party. Hanging behind, he gives Daniel an assessing look from the balcony doorway.

"What? Just say it," Daniel snaps.

"Whoa. Easy on the rage, Naomi. I have to say – that?" He jerks his thumb at Betty's retreating back.

Daniel braces himself for the bitchiness, but Marc says only, "You, sir, are the master of incredibly bad timing."

He shuts the sliding door behind himself, leaving Daniel to contemplates which would be more satisfying right now: tossing Marc off the balcony, or himself.

_Continued in Part Two_


	2. Chapter 2

NOTES: Thanks for all the encouraging feedback in Part One. I thought I'd have this wrapped up in two chapters, but I think it makes sense to break here before the conclusion. Part Three is on the way fairly swiftly. \0/ LDN is also on the way, being worked on simultaneously.

Feedback is joy. Thanks! Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"UNDERTOW": Part Two<p>

Daniel's iPhone vibrates closer and closer to the edge of his coffee table, but he makes no move to save it. His mother's picture flashes on the screen, making it the fourth time she's called since he left Betty's party a few hours ago.

He gets that she's worried. But really, what is there to say?

The phone teeters, and then drops into soft shag rug, going silent. He flops over onto his stomach, attempting to empty his head enough to fall asleep. No luck so far.

Catching Daniel during his second escape attempt from the party, Mom had worriedly pulled him aside to ask if everything was alright. Over her shoulder, he had glimpsed Betty chatting with Amanda's – whoever that guy was, across the party. Their eyes caught, and Daniel's gut clenched unpleasantly when Betty glanced away to laugh forcedly at something Spencer Cannon said.

Swallowing heavily, Daniel met his mother's concerned eyes and said, "Like I said, Mom. She's fine."

Third time was the charm. He didn't see Betty after that, and now, lying on his sofa where he dropped straight after entering the apartment, he wonders if he ever will again.

Practically, he knows there's no way he won't. For instance, she will no doubt be flying back to New York to spend Christmas with her family. He can't picture otherwise. And while she's here his mother will invite Betty to the holiday parties she throws at the Meade estate, if for no other reason than that the two of them seem to have a relationship entirely separate from him.

And Daniel will, of course, be there as well. He hopes to be put together enough by then to make polite conversation about her job, and is the weather in England really as shitty as everyone says? That, he supposes, is something.

But that's more than half a year away. By then, Daniel imagines Betty won't be returning to New York alone.

Daniel feels caught in a currant, helpless as though water is rising up around him. There's nothing to be done. Betty is leaving, just as assuredly as before the colossal mistake he made at her party. Worse still, she now knows the reason behind his jackass behaviour, and it seems she wants nothing to do with him. No calls, no texts, no emails. Silence.

It doesn't matter that for a brief, shining moment, he was certain that she, too . . .

No. It doesn't matter.

His phone rings again. His heart stopped doing that hopeful, maybe-it's-Betty lurch a while ago. Mostly. He checks anyway.

It's Mom. Ignoring her makes him feel even scummier.

_Sleeping. Will call u tmrw AM_, he types. He pauses and adds, _I'll be fine. Love u. D._

With that, he switches off the ringer and drops the phone back into the shag rug. Face half-buried in the couch cushion, Daniel stares blankly at one of Molly's knickknacks he still keeps displayed on the fireplace mantle.

The delicate wire birdcage thingy's spring mechanism door was broken even when Molly purchased it at an antique sale when they first began dating. The door hangs open as though the little bird inside just pulled a jailbreak. He thinks its original purpose was to hang jewellery from, but Molly kept it on her desk at school to store a rather impressive sticker collection. Like her Sunday crossword puzzle and a croissant t-shirt, Daniel found himself reluctant to part with the cheap trinket. He even left the stickers inside.

Sometimes, when he did especially attentive things like putting the seat down or remembering trash collection day, Molly would playfully affix a "Terrific work!" or "A+!" to the back of his hand before kissing him soundly.

Despite everything, the memory warms him up. He reluctantly smiles into the couch cushion –

– and then sits bolt upright, scattering the cushions on the floor.

I'm an idiot, he thinks dazedly as realization strikes him. A defeatist, melodramatic idiot.

Betty is going away, far away, for probably a very long time. To start a new job. A new _life_. She isn't dying, for God's sake.

But he's been mourning her just the same.

Heart pounding, Daniel tightly clutches a cushion as his thoughts race. His bizarre reaction to Betty's departure had confused everyone, including himself, but it makes sense to him now.

First, there was denial when she came charging into his office to explain Marc's mass email, and all he could think above the blank buzzing in his head was that there must be some sort of mistake. After that came the fiery anger, which he rationalized away as that of an employer losing a prized employee he had invested company resources in.

The bargaining stage, he realizes, was especially manipulative and rotten – dangling more money in front of Betty when he knows a portion of her salary goes towards paying bills for a household she no longer even lives in.

And then, the sadness. It came in a flood he was barely able to contain as he fled his office after signing Betty's release papers. Her wet apologetic eyes and puffy, bitten lips had torn him up from the inside out. He rode the elevator down to the dark and mostly empty parking garage, slid into the driver's seat of his Bentley (on a whim, he had been driving himself to work all week), pressed his forehead to the steering wheel, and remained there for the better part of an hour.

Now, he supposes, should come the acceptance stage.

_Fuck that_, he thinks, scrambling to his feet. Losing somebody for forever, he knows what that truly means. And this? This is not the same thing at all.

He's not helpless this time. Betty is alive, he's alive, and yeah, soon there will be an ocean and a couple of time zones between them –

But she'd once told him that anything worth having was also worth fighting for. What he feels for her – what they could have together – is worth everything. He can only hope that Betty might see that, too.

Yanking his shoes on, he races out of his apartment, praying he's not too late.

* * *

><p>Betty stares up at the spackled ceiling, wide awake.<p>

Beside her, Hilda breathes a deep sigh just shy of a snore, hogging the covers in her sleep. Bobby is bunking on the sofa downstairs after Hilda kicked him out of their bedroom for the night, claiming that she and Betty needed one last stay-up-all-night sisterly bonding session. So after everyone else went to bed, she and Hilda painted and dried their toenails, crawled into bed and pulled the covers over their heads with a flashlight between them, just like their girlhood slumber parties. They talked for hours, sometimes laughing, and sometimes crying a little, especially when Hilda gently tugged on Betty's necklace and whispered, "Mami would be so, so proud of you, Betty."

She hadn't planned on revealing what happened with Daniel earlier tonight. In fact, she had half-convinced herself she'd imagined the entire thing, even when her heart lurched painfully each time she caught a glimpse of his darkened office across the party floor. Even when Claire swooped down to embrace her one last time, her eyes full of questions Betty couldn't answer, and warm, loving concern.

Even when she felt a phantom tingle on her lips and imaginary hands on her waist.

But in this cozy space there is no room for secrets. And in telling Hilda, Betty untangled some truths of her own.

"I think maybe it was so difficult for me to tell him about London because . . . well, because." Shadows flickered under the blanket as she rolled the flashlight back and forth.

"Wow. I gotta say, Betty. Did _not_ see this one coming."

"Me neither, believe me. But I guess we've never been in such an . . . emotional situation before either. I mean, I knew it was going to be hard on him, me leaving. He's like that, you know? He doesn't let a lot of people in. Not really. But when he does, he's kind of yours for life." In a whisper, she added, "It's my favourite thing about him."

"Well, truth is you guys have been real good to each other the last couple years. Funny how these things work, though. All this time, nothing. And now?"

"Yeah. Except not so much 'funny' as – as –"

"I know, _mamita. _I know_._" Hilda's voice was soft and understanding, muffled under the blanket. She tapped Betty on the nose. "But the question is, what are you gonna do about it?"

"Oh, Hilda. Nothing," Betty whispered, even though her voice broke and her eyes welled at the thought. "I'm moving to another country tomorrow. I'll call him or email him or whatever when I get there, but anything else is just way, _way_ too complicated. Anything else is not fair to him – _or_ to me."

"Complicated. Okay," Hilda repeated slowly. She sounded sceptical, and Betty realized then how much their relationship as sisters had changed. Hilda from a few years ago would've had plenty of bossy but well-meaning advice. Instead, all she asked was, "Does this make you wish you weren't going?"

"No. It doesn't really." This was true. But there _is_ something she's longing for, something she still can't shape into words. "I mean, that's life, right? Full of changes. You can't always keep everything the same. And Daniel and I will always been friends. I know that. I told him so. Okay, so it won't be _exactly_ like before, but . . . being far apart isn't so bad, right?"

"Well, it ain't _great_, but –"

"Gives an excuse to visit. To travel. And there's technology now and – phones. We have phones. Skype, too. Although he never remembers how to work the – the thing . . . And he reads my blog now. And, um, texting, of course. He's good at – he's a pretty fast . . . _Hilda_ –"

"Shh, shh. It's okay." Hilda wrapped her arms around Betty, tipping the flashlight onto the floor. She stroked her hair soothingly for a long time. Betty kept her face pressed to Hilda's shoulder, eyes scrunched shut, until Hilda gently joked, "Enough drama. We haven't even _talked_ about what you're gonna wear on your first day of work yet."

Betty gave a wet giggle, grateful for the distraction. "No ponchos. That much I know."

Sometime during their debate over bare legs versus sheer panty hose, Hilda drifted off. Betty now finds it impossible to do the same. She is exhausted, but nerves and sadness and excitement prevent her limbs from loosening as she wonders where this new path she is embarking on tomorrow will take her.

She feels her mind beginning to slant back towards the party at MODE, but she wills the images away. She cannot do this to herself.

Sleep. She needs to sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.

Closing her eyes, she curls up against Hilda's back and tries to match their breathing.

Her Blackberry buzzes on the night table, startling her so badly she jolts. Hilda rolls onto her belly, mumbling something incoherent and most likely rude. Fumbling around for her glasses but unable to find them in the dark, Betty seizes the phone before it vibrates off the table and squints at the display. Her heart skips a beat.

"Sorry. Did I wake you?" Daniel says.

"It's 3:30 in the morning," she breathes. She sits up, clutching the blankets to her chest.

"But were you sleeping?"

She closes her eyes. "Daniel, what is it?"

"I . . . um, you guys forgot to pick up your newspaper today."

"What? Where are you?" Suspicion forms and Betty carefully eases out of bed. She moves over to the window and peeks through the lacy curtain.

Daniel is standing on the front stoop, phone pressed to his ear. He looks up and waves a rolled-up copy of the Queens Courier.

"Hey there," he says.

She presses her hand to the glass. "Hi."

"Betty," he whispers, "could you come outside for a little while?"

Even without her glasses she can see his pleading, vulnerable expression from up here.

She nods slowly, looking directly into his upturned face. "Okay. Give me a minute." She hangs up, and tiptoes back to the nightstand to find her glasses.

Just as she's slipping Hilda's oversized cardigan over top her camisole and thin pyjama pants, the bed rustles.

"You sure about this, Betty?"

She pauses and smiles, unsurprised. "No. Not at all. But I was wrong, Hilda. I can't go without . . ."

"Without what?" Hilda sits up and switches on the bedside lamp. Her hair is a bushy mess, her tank top is skewed. Betty loves her so much right then it hurts.

"Without knowing how he's going to fit in my life from now on."

Hilda looks at her carefully. "That's a pretty big risk. It could hurt."

Betty nods, pulling the sleeves of Hilda's cardigan down over her hands. "I know."

Hilda opens up her arms, and Betty drops onto the bed, landing on Hilda's legs. They hug fiercely.

"I'll cover for you. In case Papi wakes up early," Hilda whispers in her ear.

Betty thinks about telling her that won't necessary, but something stops her. "I love you."

Hilda smoothes back Betty's hair, tucks it behind her ears. "I love you, too, _chica_. Now go."

Betty tiptoes through the hallway, down the stairs while avoiding the creaky third-last step, past Bobby's snoring form on the sofa. She slips on some flats and then pauses at the door, taking a deep breath.

_Everything is calm and okay. _

Daniel is waiting for her on the stoop, still in his work clothes. Sort of. His charcoal shirt is untucked and wrinkled, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie and jacket missing. He seems agitated, like he's been pacing.

"Betty, I'm sorry. There's so much I want to tell you, I don't even know where to start, but I'm so sorry I was such an –"

He doesn't finish, because just the sight of him sets something ablaze in Betty; she stretches up on her toes, slides her arms around his neck, and silences him with a kiss.

Four years, she thinks hazily as Daniel immediately responds by pulling her closer by the waist. Four years of being with him, and how could she not know she's always wanted to do this?

She pushes even higher on her tiptoes until their bodies press flush chest to chest, belly to belly, hips to – oh God – hips. She feels the shape of him against her pelvic bone as images swirl through her brain, heightening her sense of incredulity that this is actually happening.

Silly small moments, like when he asked her not to say "boobs" again. His laugh when she told him he could run a fashion magazine better than Gandhi but not Jesus. Sneaking him into Cal Hartley's Easter bash. The goofy faces he made at baby William the few times he got to hold him. That moment while he was off in Level 7 land, the one she never told him about.

His soft eyes when he told a crowd of black and Latina bloggers that he adored her. A six page reference letter. Dinners with her family. Karaoke and wedding cake.

"_I couldn't imagine being here without you." _

"Give me your keys," she whispers, barely parting her lips from his. She presses his forehead to hers, eyes closed, panting for breath.

"Mmm. Why?" He dips his head down and pecks her lips two, three, four times, then kisses her again so deeply she forgets absolutely everything for a long, warm moment.

They part for air, and she remembers, intent. "Keys. Now."

She doesn't realize until his hand brushes her inner thigh as he digs into his pocket, but somehow they shifted across the stoop: Daniel's now resting his butt on the low iron guardrail. And Betty – she's half-straddling his lap.

"Here. Where are we going?" He presses the keys to his Porsche into her palm even as he begins mouthing the skin under her left ear. Suddenly, he pauses and pulls back, eliciting a tiny whine from Betty. His expression is shocked, but also carefully hopeful. "Wait. We're going somewhere?"

Betty hesitates for a moment, thoughts of consequences and implications threatening her courage –

– but only for a moment. Looking into his eyes, she strokes his cheek and nods. "Yes. Let's go. Before Mr. Bramwell gets in from his night shift and sees us."

Thinking no further, she grasps his hand and pulls him down the stairs toward his waiting car.


End file.
